


One More Chance

by greygerbil



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angelic courtship, Casual Sex while Secretly Pining, Lap Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Wing Kink, demonic courtship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Aziraphale is painfully aware that he may have rebuffed Crowley one time too many to still hope there will be anything else between them than friendship and the occasional tryst. Still, he was never one to give up easily.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 262
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	One More Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anticyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/gifts).



“Stop spoiling the plants.”

Aziraphale took a quick step back from the philodendron, but managed a defiant expression nonetheless. They were not his plants, but he was still an angel, or at least he was fairly sure of that, despite everything that had happened recently. After Crowley’s tales of it he doubted he would have entirely missed it if he’d fallen. So was it not his task to care for all living things?

“You’re too hard on them,” he admonished, quickly shoving a dry leaf he’d found into his pocket to hide it from Crowley’s merciless gaze.

“They’ll get comfortable and have brown spots all over,” Crowley griped. He leaned in the doorway, legs crossed at the ankles, his long, lanky, black-clad body displayed in a way that Aziraphale had always found very hard not to stare at. “I’m not letting you in my flat again if you’re a bad influence.”

Aziraphale’s only answer was a noise of disbelief. The threat was so weak that even Crowley hadn’t attempted to put any weight behind it. They both knew that after so many years of hide-and-seek, neither of them were ready to give up the comfort of simply dropping into each other’s homes and finally having a convenient place to talk as well as engage in the decidedly sinful things they had added to their arrangement four hundred and sixty-two years (and three months, but who was counting) ago.

“Now, I thought you had this whiskey you wanted me to try.”

To distract Crowley from the green subjects he ruled, Aziraphale swept past him down the hallway and into the kitchen in search of the drinks they had planned to have. He knew he should have been grateful for the open familiarity they could now share, but it had been well established by now that, though he was still an angel, he was not a very good one. When the first euphoria had settled, Aziraphale had realised that despite all the freedom in the world, Crowley did not seem interested in taking what they had further than friendship with the occasional addendum – not anymore. Aziraphale had finally caught up to him, but it seemed Crowley, who had been much faster to know the truth about them, had already moved on. And who could blame him?

Not that Aziraphale did not value their friendship highly. There was no one in the world who could understand him as well as Crowley. It wasn’t just that he was a supernatural being, either – Aziraphale doubted that he would have gotten along as well with any other demon. At this point, he wondered how well he would have gotten along with other _angels_. He had been extraordinarily lucky that it was Crowley who had been dropped in his lap, and much too cowardly to see it.

As he watched Crowley dig through the kitchen cabinets for the whiskey in silence, Aziraphale felt the regret set in again. The worst part about their stalled relationship was not that he thought that Crowley had never wanted more, it was that Aziraphale had thrown his unsubtle hints back in his face, again and again, the last time as recently as just before the averted apocalypse. Of course they couldn’t really have run off to Alpha Centauri together. Aziraphale felt much too responsible for earth for that and he knew in truth Crowley did, too. Still, sometimes when he saw the stars at night, Aziraphale stupidly wished he’d said yes. At least he should have explained himself instead of pretending to both of them that he was an obedient soldier for heaven after centuries of being in bed with a demon, literally and figuratively.

Over the weeks since then it had slowly dawned on Aziraphale that he had lost his chance. Of course, he had not lost Crowley, or indeed the world, and so there was still much to be happy about even if his vessel’s heart was heavy these days.

A rustle and rush of displaced air woke Aziraphale from his musings. While Crowley contemplated the contents of a cabinet filled, counterintuitively, mostly with VHS tapes with handwritten labels, he’d spread out his dark wings. Since his kitchen was distinctly modern, with lots of empty space and unused countertops, he could stretch them here with ease.

Aziraphale had always thought his wings very beautiful, though he’d been smart enough not to say so out loud. After all, the tar-coloured feathers were supposed to be a mark of unspeakable evil and all that. One wondered why the Almighty had made them so good to look at. He supposed it was that whole temptation angle that angels were supposed to be immune to.

“Gotta get them out a bit,” Crowley said, by way of explanation, shaking his wings with a resolute movement. “I’ve gotten used to keeping them around now that every little thing I do doesn’t need a report filed down under.”

“I can tell,” Aziraphale said primly, possibly mostly to distract from his admiring gaze. “They’re tousled. How can you keep them like that? It must be uncomfortable.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Crowley said with a shrug, though he stopped his digging and turned to Aziraphale with the lazy half-smirk that somehow left Aziraphale flustered even after knowing him for thousands of years. Really, how was it still so easy for Crowley to wrap him around his little finger? If Aziraphale hadn’t know any better, he’d have called it demonic intervention. “If you’re going to complain about it, you might as well sort them out.”

“Well – I ought to!” Aziraphale answered with enough indignation to hide his excitement at the prospect.

They hadn’t touched each other’s wings much. Mostly it had been the logistics of the regrettably small, secret spaces in which they had spent private time over the years which had prevented their wings to come into play. Aziraphale also suspected there was something symbolic about it, though. As long as they were contained to their human-looking vessels, it wasn’t quite so obviously an angel and a demon sleeping together – even if the liberal, snap-of-a-finger change of private parts they had both at times engaged in was not entirely in line with the human experience. That was not to mention some of the other delightful magic tricks especially Crowley had performed, either (who would even think to do _that_ with chocolate?). Still, the wings were special. Once, Aziraphale had by accident spread them while on top of Crowley, mashing them against the walls of some wooden cabinet they were in, and Crowley had reached up and grabbed a fistful of white feathers. Even eighty years later that memory still sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine.

With nonchalant elegance, Crowley grabbed one of the stylish bar stools that stood at his kitchen island, turning his back to Aziraphale before he sat down.

“Go on, then.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, hopefully projecting confidence as he reached out for Crowley’s wings. The feathers were not as soft as his own and a peculiar warmth emitted from them, like embers in a smouldering hearth might. Yet, their smooth feel was pleasant against his fingertips as he began to sort methodically through them, starting with the great pinions and moving down over the ridge towards the down at the base.

He could right the seat of the larger feathers easily by combing through them, but he had to really get between the smaller ones to bring order into the chaos. Crowley straightened, shoulders rolling, making quiet humming noises of approval as Aziraphale worked. Aziraphale felt his own vessel’s circulatory system hesitate, unsure whether to pump a surplus of blood into his head or downwards.

Crowley’s wings were really not in such terrible shape that it would have taken more than a few minutes to make them presentable, but Crowley wasn’t chasing him off and Aziraphale had no reason at all to cut this exquisite pleasure short. Carefully, he dragged his fingers between the feathers in the middle, hearing them whisper too quietly for a human ear to catch. His blood had now definitely decided for the ground-wise direction, leaving his trousers uncomfortably tight, despite the fact that he had not touched an inch of Crowley’s skin yet.

If Crowley’s fidgeting on the chair was any indication, though, Aziraphale was not alone. His wings shivered as Aziraphale gently moved his hand along the top of them, contracted once and then opened up to their full splendour. Aziraphale watched them with awe as the bleak neon light overhead shimmered on the obsidian feathers, then carefully buried his hands in them, fingers sliding downwards, feeling their otherworldly heat.

“That’s not cleaning, angel,” Crowley said, voice strained, as he suddenly turned on the chair like a hinge. His wing brushed Aziraphale’s face in the movement and when Aziraphale looked down, he saw that there was a bulge at the front of Crowley’s punishingly tight trousers.

“I may have gotten carried away.”

Aziraphale waved his hand. The chair Crowley sat on was suddenly a sturdy wooden sort with a high backrest.

“Such a relief to have the rule about frivolous miracles lifted,” he murmured as he put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him.

“Indeed,” Crowley answered, and by the sudden sensation of cool air on his skin, Aziraphale realised that his trousers and underwear had been taken off and now laid folded on the ground next to his feet.

He opened his mouth to chastise Crowley, but the demon kissed him harder and Aziraphale decided that his things _were_ at least neatly put away and he could complain later. Besides, with all these clothes out of the way, he now only had to worry about Crowley’s trousers, which were handled by simply popping the button and pulling the zipper down. Crowley had the scandalous habit of not wearing underclothes, which Aziraphale would certainly scold him for, too. Someday.

Aziraphale clambered onto Crowley’s lap, wishing he’d made the legs of the chair a bit shorter. Another quick thought brought slick, colourless liquid onto his hand, which he spread liberally over Crowley’s cock before he guided it to his entrance. He liked it when Crowley took his time and prepared him, but this was not the moment. Now, he wanted him inside. As he shifted to position himself properly and sank down, Crowley’s hands on his hips guiding him, he lifted his gaze once more take in the wondrous spread of his wings, which shook as Crowley seized up, trying to keep still under Aziraphale.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale mumbled under his breath.

Crowley groaned in his ear. He’d always been vocal and Aziraphale was just as bad, already stuttering at the first tentative upwards thrust of Crowley’s hips. A reflexive, nervous thought shot into his head, wondering if he should risk silencing the air around them or if that would just draw heavenly attention on them even while it diverted that of humans. He’d just said it himself, though – these things did not matter for them anymore.

With a blissful smile, he reached out, lifting his hands from Crowley’s shoulders to the back of his wings where they reached out behind Crowley’s back, quickly wishing the lube away so he would not dirty the plumage. Crowley cursed as Aziraphale rubbed his thumbs against the smooth, unyielding feathers there.

His reverence was interrupted by Crowley setting a rough, fast pace, leaving Aziraphale scrambling to keep up. This was unusual for him – Crowley was much better than Aziraphale at teasing, as Aziraphale got greedy too quickly – and to know that he had driven him to this delighted Aziraphale. He left one hand to caress Crowley’s wing while he wrapped his other arm around his shoulders, holding on to him as he met him in his rhythm. Crowley’s sunglasses had slid down his nose, teetering on the tip, and Aziraphale was hypnotised by his wide, bright eyes like he had been the first time he had seen them. Hellfire wasn’t meant to be this beautiful.

Crowley held him tightly, leaving Aziraphale’s cock to rub against the soft fabric of his waistcoat, kissing him with teeth that were a little too sharp. This was almost perfect if not for that niggling reminder that he would have to stop hugging and kissing Crowley when they were done. If only there was a way to show him what he felt; words seemed cheap after the many times Aziraphale had rejected him. But as the pressure within him built to a peak, Aziraphale dimly, desperately remembered that demons really did not talk so much about these matters, anyway. When they wanted to ask for a claim, they made their requests visible in the flesh.

Aziraphale’s effort was, all told, not quite as impressive as it could have been were he a harder man. He didn’t want to bite Crowley until he broke skin, didn’t want to hurt him. But as lust overwhelmed him and he spent himself, he threw caution to the wind and turned a kiss to the crook of Crowley’s neck into a bite that left at a red imprint of blunt teeth. Crowley hissed in a way decidedly not human, but whatever he thought of it, it didn’t stop him from finishing deep inside Aziraphale with a couple more hard thrusts.

They sat together for a moment to catch their breaths, an in truth unnecessary but very likeable human habit they had acquired over the years. Usually, Aziraphale would have wanted to enjoy this afterglow until Crowley started to complain about being cold half-dressed, or Aziraphale being too heavy, but this time he was anxious to know Crowley’s reaction to this first and most obvious of courting rituals from the demon playbook.

Crowley laughed.

“Look what happened to you,” he pointed out, yanking his collar down as if Aziraphale could somehow have missed the marks of his actions. “You fuck like a demon now. Must be my good influence.” His wing fluttered briefly before he pulled them back into the pocket of reality where they usually hid. After pushing his sunglasses up again, he wiggled his legs a little. “Want to get off? The other way, I mean.”

And with that joke, he looked at him with a dirty grin and fell silent. Aziraphale bit his tongue to hide the disappointment. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

As Aziraphale put on his underwear and trousers, Crowley resumed the interrupted search through the cupboards and finally located the whiskey, exclaiming triumphantly. However, looking at the bottle of amber liquid, Aziraphale imagined having to pretend to be a good companion so quickly after this, possibly while drunk, and realised with sudden certainty that he would fail miserably.

“I’m afraid I do have to go,” he said, pulling at his sleeve.

Crowley halted, bottle in hand.

“Didn’t you want to try the whiskey?”

“Actually, I have – a customer coming over,” Aziraphale said, groping for an excuse. “It must have slipped my mind! How careless of me. I’ll see you soon, Crowley.”

“A customer?” Crowley echoed, knitting his brow. “Since when do you go out of your way to sell your precious books?”

“Times have changed, haven’t they? Good night to you!” Aziraphale answered and gave Crowley what he hoped was a friendly smile before he made hastily for the door.

-

Aziraphale enjoyed walking the streets of London and so he strolled back to his bookshop on foot. There was always such a bustle – lights in a thousand windows and people wherever you looked. The night after they had gone to the Ritz, Crowley had parked his Bentley at the corner of a small road opening into Regent’s Street at Aziraphale’s behest so they could watch the vaguely organised, habitual chaos unfold. Aziraphale had felt so lucky in that moment to know someone who was like him, so old and aware of all that unfolded around them in the universe, who still liked humanity just like Aziraphale did. It would have been terrible to see it all vanish.

It was this feeling he told himself to concentrate on. Crowley would still always be Crowley, his maddening, passionate, funny friend, the nicest demon hell had to offer. Once the wounds over his infatuation had healed, it would be alright. He’d left Crowley to deal with the same damage often enough, so perhaps this was only fair.

The shop was closed, of course, the lights already turned out, no customers inside. Aziraphale walked in the quiet dark, taking in the smell of his old books, paper and dust, running his hand over a row of old leather-bound spines with embossed letters. However, the peaceful moment was short-lived. There was a different scent, Aziraphale realised, something sweet and fresh that did not belong.

Frowning, he looked around him. Everything here was just as he had left it a few hours ago, no book out of place. He moved carefully towards the back of the shop, wishing he had his flaming sword at hand. Though he wasn’t a natural with it, it would have been something to brandish if the other angels had come for him.

The back laid in darkness, too, but it had expanded greatly from when Aziraphale had last seen it. The walls were blown out to include a daffodil-studded meadow and wild shrubs in bloom. His desk sat among a field of tulips. An entire cherry tree heavy with pink blossoms had grown next to a bookshelf, slinging its roots over various early editions of Charles Dickens’ work. After flicking on the lights, Aziraphale just stood and stared at the garden laid out before him.

What could be the purpose of this? Even if they knew, Gabriel and Michael were not imaginative enough to make such elaborate allusions to his first meetings with Crowley, were they? Besides, keeping this up needed an extraordinary amount of concentration that you wouldn’t want to commit to frivolities if you were about to assassinate a rogue agent. Had he not known better, he would have said there was an angel who was trying to impress him aroung. Such harmless games with the fabric of reality had traditionally been a way for them to show off to each other.

“You people are really difficult to please, you know that?”

Aziraphale jumped. From behind a tall bush to his right, Crowley stepped out into the room.

“You did this?” Aziraphale asked, incredulous.

“I figured angels don’t usually bite, so might as well try to get with your customs, too. Eden seemed sort of fitting.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, I didn’t transmute any of your books.”

His casual tone could not hide the uncertainty in his voice. Aziraphale’s heart was beating in his throat.

“I thought you – I didn’t think you’d realised.”

“I’m not that stupid, angel. I just didn’t know if you really meant it. Wasn’t like that the last few hundreds of years, was it?”

Crowley stepped closer now, but stopped within arm’s reach. Aziraphale gave himself a mental kick. Now was the time to make up for all those moments when he’d been the one to hesitate. He flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s middle. There was a pleased look of surprise on Crowley’s face in the split second Aziraphale saw it before he kissed Crowley.

“It should have been,” Aziraphale said when he leaned back. “And I do need to apologise. I think I made our lives much harder than I needed to, didn’t I?”

Crowley gave a soft shake of his head.

“Doesn’t matter now. I always knew I couldn’t expect an angel to break all the rules just like that. You said it, though, times have changed.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale wrapped Crowley tightly into his arms. He was a lot more forgiving than many of the heavenly stock, but he knew better than to praise him for it. Wouldn’t want to upset Crowley in such an amazing moment. “This is a very pretty garden,” he pointed out, instead.

“I know plants,” Crowley answered, barely hiding his pride. “Might have shouted at them a bit while I waited for you.”

Aziraphale had to laugh. When Crowley pushed him up against the wall for another kiss, the joy in his chest expanded so suddenly, forcefully, that it tore down everything around them with it.

Suddenly the world was gone. Aziraphale was made of light formed into a million feathers, and the garden Crowley had drawn up around them grew rapidly into the surrounding void, stars sprouting on vines as black as the night. Pressed against this naked core of Aziraphale’s being was Crowley, hot as the sun, a fire wrapped in shifting black scales which seemed unable to constrict his energy in a form, leaving him one moment human and then long, limbless.

Gently, Aziraphale drew him in, and though this was so different from all their former trysts, he still felt that same elation and excitement, though now freed from the constraints of a vessel he took care not to tear to pieces. Flowers snaked around Aziraphale’s glowing limbs and over Crowley’s clawed hands. When they came together, Aziraphale could not honestly say who was inside whom; their borders seemed to have vanished and their beings intermingled to the point that his light shone through Crowley’s scales and Crowley’s fire burned inside Aziraphale as they clung on to each other.

It was so much sensation that Aziraphale had to yield, flee into his vessel before he risked actually imploding and leaving the house their vessels still stood in a crater.

“Sorry, I’m not used to it yet,” he panted, holding Crowley as he watched him plunge back into his vessel, too, falling into Aziraphale’s arms, gasping for air. The back room of the bookshop looked normal now, the garden left in the other place.

“Yeah, that was – a lot,” Crowley murmured, shaking his head like a wet dog before he brought his hand between them. Aziraphale helped him with clumsy fingers, half-aware only of what his vessel was doing, but very conscious of the heat pooling in his stomach, close to coming even when they had only touched for moments in this world. “We’ll practice that.”

“Oh! Yes, gladly,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley leaned into him as he took both their cocks in hand, his body hard and angular against Aziraphale’s softer form. Much as he’d admired the look of the true Crowley, Aziraphale could not claim that his vessel was not just as attractive to him. Perhaps such an appreciation for human form was another trace of his time spent on earth, or maybe it was just that it was this Crowley whom he’d seen for the last thousands of years.

The thought dispersed along with all others as Crowley began stroking them and Aziraphale buried his face against his neck, covering every inch of it in kisses, knees shaking as Crowley dragged his hand roughly down over their cocks. When Aziraphale gave in to the impulse to sink his teeth into him again, Crowley came over his fingers, seed slicking his hand as he continued. Aziraphale shuddered, grip on him tightening as Crowley leaned their heads together, his forked tongue licking at Aziraphale’s ear. It did not take him long to come, either, mumbling Crowley’s name.

He leaned into the wall with an exhaustion that was soul-deep, no doubt thanks to their excursion into their true forms. Crowley lifted his clean hand and touched the base of his own neck.

“You’re starting to like that, aren’t you?”

“Well, as you said... I may have learned to fornicate like a demon,” Aziraphale said with a small smile.

Crowley raised a brow at him. “Pretty sure I didn’t use _that_ word.”

Aziraphale just gave him an arch look before he cleaned their mess up with a snap of his fingers. As he tucked himself back into his trousers, he glanced carefully up at Crowley from the corner of his eyes.

“So – we could have a drink, after all. Not the whiskey, of course, but I think I have a few options here. It’s too late to be going home, anyway.”

“Right, since the London streets are so dangerous for a demon,” Crowley said, grinning.

Aziraphale supposed after everything, he had to grant him the right to mock, though he felt a pout pulling at his lips. Still, he stood his ground, looking expectantly at Crowley.

“I suppose I could spend the night,” Crowley said airily, after leaving him squirming for a little bit longer. “Do you even have a bed, though?”

Aziraphale brightened.

“I’ve been storing a few old encyclopaedias on it for the last couple of decades or so, but it should be easy to clean up.”

“That sounds like a great start,” Crowley said.


End file.
